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Your name is Dave Strider and it’s astounding that you ended up here.
When you were eighteen, your brother died and without much to go on, you ran from home, his memory haunting you in that big city. You took your guitar and lyric notebook and got the hell out of town. You met up with friends and crashed at their houses, convinced you were going to get signed to a major record label soon so you wouldn’t be there long.
How wrong you were.
You ended up bumming it up in Washington (how did you even get there?) and the day you felt your life truly end, was the day you had to sell your beloved guitar to a pawnshop just so you could eat. You spent months with very little food and with clothes that fell apart. Your dream was crumbling.
But soon came this rich, snarky, son of a bitch who swooped in to save you. His father was currently the head of the Betty Crocker company and well, him knocking over your cup of pennies and dimes changed your life forever.
He picked you up off the side of the road and took you clothes shopping (where he spent a couple thousand dollars on your wardrobe) so he could take you to dinner (which you never went to, to be honest). He took you in and soon enough you were living with him.
When Christmas rolled around, you were blown away with his gift to you: your guitar that you had pawned off along with so many extra little doodads like picks and extra strings and a case for it. You were stunned and, you have to say, a little bit seduced by his kindness. Shortly thereafter you two became a couple and while that is a story in and of itself, it’s not important for this story just yet.
You’re not one hundred percent sure how the two of you became a musical act, but you did and you’ve been selling out stadiums with you on guitar and vocals and him on the piano ever since. Though it was due to the money he was born into that lead to you to getting a demo CD recorded with all of your original music on it, once you sent that CD around there was no need for it. You two were picked up immediately by a big time record label and were suddenly balls deep in throngs of fans.
This show is the biggest one yet. The most fans the two of you have ever seen in one place. Needless to say, you're a little nervous, but that’s because you have something a bit more personal planned for tonight’s show than the normal set of songs. John has no idea and maybe that’s why he looks so at peace and put together in his skinny jeans and pea coat. He gives you a smile and you adjust your shirt. He always looks so nice when you go to perform and then you show up in a tshirt and jeans.
John likes to remind you that while you don't dress as well as him, you're the fan favorite. Which is true. You’re the more vocal one of your partnership and the girls (and boys) do swoon over you more than him. He does have his own following of people trying to avoid seeming obvious and dorks like him who play the piano though and with that, you don’t feel bad having so many fans.
Before every show he straightens out your shirt and fusses with your hair like an overbearing mother and you have to say, it’s probably the thing that sets your mind at ease the most before these big shows. You smile at him and he chuckles a little as he brushes some hair out of your face.
“Kiss for good luck?”
“You don’t need it, dork,” he tells you with a slight laugh and that’s the laugh you heard so many times in private that let you know he was truly yours to love. Outside of the home, he used to be so cold and mean to avoid friends that would take advantage of him, but now, with you, he’s lost that. He’s nice and kind, and while he’s sometimes an asshole and a jerk, he’s changed.
Because of you.
“Ah man, shucks. Maybe I really do need it this time. What do ya say?”
“I say that maybe one of these days, when the public knows about our relationship, I’ll just kiss you on stage to mess you up and you’ll be mad at me for weeks,” he says with a grin.
You grin back because, well, never before has he said something that so beautifully foreshadows your plans for the evening.
Soon enough the two of you are fitted with mics and earpieces, your makeup is touched up, and your clothes are checked for imperfections (even though John already did that for you). John takes your hand briefly, giving it a reassuring squeeze before dropping it. That’s your cue to run out onto the stage. John follows you out at a slower pace and you try to hide the grin that is threatening to burst out. You’re excited and well, John’s about to be confused.
“Hello, Seattle!” you shout as you arrive at the microphone set up at the front of the stage with your guitar leaning against a nearby box. Normally, you’d grab it and pull the thing on but you’ve got other plans. You glance behind you to see John getting ready to sit at the piano. He won’t play on anything less than a grand.
“How’s everyone doing tonight?” you ask. Your reply is several thousand fans screaming.
“Pretty good then, huh?” you shout with a laugh.
You glance back at John again and he’s sitting at the piano bench, looking a little confused. Normally you two do this stuff about halfway through the show because talking at the beginning just gets you nervous. He’s used to getting on stage and just playing.
“So tonight is a special night to me. Or rather, it will be. Thank you all for coming to our show, by the way,” you say and there’s of course some more screaming coming from the audience. John is downright baffled.
“Now now, I have something a little important I gotta do tonight. I mean this is colossally important. Like when we Americans received the Statue of Liberty from France important. Like when Obama got elected important. Like when Obama got re-elected important. Like when Washington legalized same sex marriage and cannabis important.”
People are giving cheers when you mention things they know about and feel passionate towards. You and John have been pretty clear about your political standings, definitely leaning to the liberal side and equality since the very beginning. People tend to equate you to Lady Gaga but neither of you think that does anyone justice.
“Now, this may or may not come as a surprise to you, depending on how often you look to the internet for certain types of literature and art. You know who you are, people. Anyway, as it is, John and I haven’t been totally upfront about a couple of things. First of all, yes, I really do like fruity margaritas and so does John. In fact, that’s all he drinks.”
You’re met with laughs which is a good sign that you are indeed fucking hilarious and that this wasn’t a bad idea.
“Second of all, neither of us are single!”
There are shouts of distress and you think you see one girl right at the edge of the stage, front row, burst into tears.
“Now now, sorry to break all of your hearts, but remember what I was saying about those internet literary works and drawings? We know about those and well, you know, they aren’t half bad.”
You glance back to see John slack jawed and downright flushed. Aw he’s so cute.
“So I’ve been in a committed relationship for what?” You look back at John to get an answer from him but he’s just downright flabbergasted by this whole thing. You’re proud of that. Most of your relationship, he was the one inspiring such an unbelieving awe in you. When he played the piano so beautifully for you the first time, when he told you that he’d buy you new clothes, when he told you he’d get you a new pair of sunglasses. His entire existence has been putting you in awe of him.
“That’s right, a year and a half. The eighteen month anniversary was last week. What about you John?”
John is still completely speechless in the background and you gesture to him to come up. He does and does a good job of composing himself before he’s center stage. “So what about you John?”
John looks at you before smiling a little. “A year and a half for me too.”
You give him a little smile before talking again. “Well, that’s a coincidence. But not really. Because you see,” you say addressing the several thousand fans before you.
“John and I are dating.”
There’s a relatively large amount of joyful screams coming from the audience.
“And it seems as now’s a good as time as any to do what I’ve been thinking about for a while.”
You turn to John with a smile. A genuine smile and you carefully get down on one knee, microphone still in hand. You glance towards the crowd, unable to stop yourself from grinning. “You may want to get your phone’s ready to record,” you say jokingly before looking back to John who looks as if he’s about to burst into tears on you.
“Alright, so John Egbert, heir to the Crocker Corp fortune. I met you when I was poor as shit and living on the streets. When I had no hope, even my guitar was gone and you were the biggest asshole that had yet to come across me, but you were also one of the nicest guys ever. You bought me clothes, made me dinner, and teased me for my bad breath. Then you got me my guitar back. I think I fell for you somewhere between the start of your nightmares and Christmas. That night was the best, drunken escapade of my life, even if you don’t remember most of it. John, I love you. Will you marry me?”
The crowd watches you two, nearly silent and when you pull out a ring and John nods yes, they’re louder than ever before, cheering loudly as you slip on the ring onto his finger. He’s stunned and you’ve never been more proud of yourself for catching him off guard. You pull him close and plant a kiss to his lips.
John is giddy and ends up giggling. “We still have a show to play,” he tells you and you nod. You two do. He pulls away from you and goes to the piano as you set the microphone back into place and pick up your guitar. He’s playing the chords to a song right as you’ve got it settled.
You lean in close to the microphone as you begin to sing.
“Oh, babe,” you whisper into the microphone and the audience is cheering with delight at the song. It’s one of your hit songs; a Dave Strider original.
“I saw a shooting star tonight and it reminded me,” you murmur into the mic. “Of the night we met.”
You glance at John from the corner of your eye. This song is about him after all.
“With roses,” you sing, starting to get louder and John’s voice echoes the line. “And wine.”
The audience is starting to sing with you.
“Oh, babe,” you sing, glancing at your guitar to make sure you’re playing the right chords (which you are by the way) before looking back towards the crowd. “Do you remember the song that came on the radio.”
Most of the audience is singing along now.
“As I drove you home in the dead of night, moon in the sky,” you sing, the words trailing off near the end so this next part is more dramatic.
“Oh, babe! Do you remember how I leaned in and kissed you,” you sing louder than ever into the microphone before you. “Before saying good bye.”
You pull away from the mic to play a brief instrumental part of the song, glancing back to see John playing the piano with what appears to be tears in the corners of his eyes. He knows this song is about him. That you wrote it for him. And while most of the facts in the song aren’t him, but other lovers you’ve had over the years, it is truly about the way he makes you feel.
“I sometimes dream of that night,” you sing and start the next verse. “With you and me in the moonlight. With you so close, but my mind so far. As I raced to fall in love in the backseat of my car.”
You look to John’s who’s absolutely lost himself in the music, playing with his eyes shut. You chuckle a little to yourself as you go transition the song to slightly quicker pace for the next verse.
“This is our song. This is for you. I wrote this with you in mind, now I know it’s lame and predictable, but would you please say you love me,” you sing, slowing down near the end so the next line is near a whisper. “Tonight.”
The crowd cheers as the song ends and you look at John to see him grinning. He’s your fiance now.
You guys go on to play your set and are happy to head home at the end of it. It means you get to kiss him all you want and hold him close and just be with him.
Tonight was arguably the best night of your life.